


Peace

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 11:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9121486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: Aramis runs a bath for Porthos when he's home for a visit. (post-series)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to tumblr for the prompt, "On Porthos's first return post-series finale, Aramis trims his hair & beard after they bathe together, fussing that no one else knows how to do it right. It becomes a tradition with them."

“No one can do it right, it seems,” Aramis sighs, cupping Porthos’ cheeks and tilting his chin up. 

“You’re just too particular,” Porthos says back, amusement laced in his voice. It’s true he’d looked in the mirror coming back here and had been surprised to see how much his hair had grown out. 

Aramis tuts, touching his cheeks. It’s a tender touch, soft against his bruises, and Porthos closes his eyes and just lets himself feel it. Aramis hums softly, his fingers dragging down along the curve of his jaw, through the grit and curl of his beard – full now, and on the edge of straggly. 

The water around them is warm, and the bath is the most extravagant thing that Porthos’ gotten to enjoy in a while. He remembers years ago, after brutal fights when Aramis would warm water in the fire, only a bucket and an old rag to use between them. Or outside of Paris, diving into the water of a river and teaching one another to swim, the water frigid and fresh. 

Now, the palace stretches out between them and Aramis moves through it like he’s always been there, belonging so effortlessly. And of course it suits him, suits him in a way that being a soldier might have but never quite fit into place. His hair has grown longer, curling and sticking to his neck, sweat-slick from the heat of the bath. His robes are crumbled on the ground, haphazard and thrown off easily, unconcerned with wrinkles in the lush, decadent fabric. Aramis shifts in the water, coming closer. Some of the water sloshes up, nearly tumbles out of the bath and onto the tiled floor. 

Porthos grunts a bit as Aramis comes into his space, leaning in close and kissing him – slow and lingering, his mouth soft and curved into a small smile. Porthos kisses him back, hand lifting to curl up into his damp hair, cradling him close. Aramis sighs out, sinks against him, body pressing to him – smooth and gentle. It’s easy to forget how much he longs for this, how long it’s been – months and months of battles hard won, of a war that seems to stretch on endlessly. He knows Aramis is working to stop it, knows the queen is working to stop it, too – that peace is something they’re both striving for, so that Porthos can come back home. It’s different, this time, to have something to come home to, but to be out there fighting alone. 

When Aramis breaks the kiss, he lingers still – forehead pressing to his. His smile is warm in the dim light of the bathing room, hands stretching out across Porthos’ chest, tracing his scars, the dips of his muscles. 

Aramis takes up his burden, cups Porthos’ chin and drags the razor slow over his cheeks, letting the hair fall down into the water, across his chest. He doesn’t cut too close, just enough to trim the beard down. Porthos lets him, closes his eyes and lets himself just feel it. Aramis’ hands are steady and sure, gentle and slow against his skin. His fingertips drag along the line of his cheeks where the beard ends, touches at the swell of his bottom lip, the dip of his chin, the slide of his neck. Aramis lingers close, eyes focused on the task, hands sure and steady. Porthos closes his eyes – lets Aramis do as he wills, knows to trust him. 

Hands at his cheeks, in his hair, hair falling away. It’s a slow and practical task, but one Aramis delights in – his breath quiet and wisping occasionally into a soft hum, a song passing between them. The water is growing cold by the time Aramis finishes, setting down his tools and letting his hands curl up into Porthos’ hair. 

Porthos opens his eyes and looks at him. Aramis smiles, warming his eyes from the inside out. When his eyes drop down to Porthos’ mouth, the slide of his smile, he only says, “That’s much better.” 

And lets Porthos lean in and kiss him, sliding into the circle of his arms – sinks against him and stays there.


End file.
